


leave in my heart (to remind me)

by blue--phantom (twilightscribe)



Series: i'll be the blood (if you'll be the bone) [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, McHanzo Week 2016, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vampires, Van Helsing AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 22:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8915311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom
Summary: Jesse gets sick. Hanzo takes care of him.





	

Hanzo’s hands are blessedly cool against his skin.

He turns to try and nuzzle into them, wanting more of the cold because his body feels as though it’s on fire. To go along with that, his throat feels like he’s just swallowed a glass full of coals. Each breath is like dragging sandpaper along his already raw throat.

The delirium, luckily, has mostly passed. Jesse’s stopped seeing shit that’s not there. He hallucinated Reyes, that he was back in his Deadlock days, the deal that got him out of a shitstorm of hell. Hanzo’s likely learned about all that in an incoherent mess of gibberish that Jesse’s been blathering when his throat lets him.

Now, he’s aware of the soft sheets around him. That he’s in a nice bed with a great view of a lovely plaster ceiling. It’s probably another swanky hotel room – no doubt Hanzo’s doing – but he’s too sick to appreciate it beyond its creature comforts.

For one, he’s still passing in and out of conscious. Too sick and exhausted from being sick to stay awake long, but sick enough that sleeping for a long period of time is just beyond his reach.

He blinks at Hanzo, “Sorry y’gotta deal with this.”

His voice sounds terrible, like he’s gargling rocks.

Hanzo lays a cool finger over his lips, smiling softly, “Do not speak. You need rest, do not waste your energy apologizing to me. You are human; it was bound to happen.”

What he wants to say is that he hates feeling like dead weight. There’s, rationally, a part of him that knows he’s being silly and that he’s sick and that’s nothing to angst over, but it’s crushed beneath his feelings that he can’t be useless. Being dead weight means he’s out of the field, he can’t do anything. He doesn’t like being deadweight.

Especially not where Hanzo’s involved. Vampires don’t get sick – least, not like humans do. Jesse’s been lucky so far that he’s managed to avoid anything more than a simple cold, but his luck’s run out and he’s landed the mother of all shitty illnesses.

He’s been feverish for four days, delusional and hallucinating for two. The first day, he hadn’t been able to hold anything down – not even water. His stomach is still a traitor, though, and he can only handle mild liquids. Hanzo’s been hand feeding him warm broth, water, and tea for four days straight; keeping hydrated and carting away all the waste.

“Y’know,” Jesse slurs, “it must’ve hurt when y’fell from heaven. Cause your an angel, love.”

There’s a soft chuckle from above him, but Jesse’s too exhausted to open his eyes. But he’s rewarded with a soft, cool kiss to his forehead that does wonders for easing all the aches in his joints.

“Rest, my love.”

 

 

 

The fever takes another two days to break.

Jesse’s mouth feels like it’s been shoved full of cotton balls. Tilting his head takes a lot of effort, leaving him exhausted, but he spots a carafe on the nightstand and a glass. His hand is shaking violently when he reaches for it, and his arm is just a little too short to reach. Jesse groans. All he wants is some water.

In an instant, Hanzo is at his bed side. Gently, he eases Jesse up into a sitting position, with his back supported by a small mountain of pillows. Once he’s assured that Jesse is comfortable, he pours out a glass of the much desired water.

Jesse’s mouth waters at the sight. His fingers twitch, but he’s too exhausted to lift his arms to take the glass. And he’s also fairly sure that even if he did find the energy to lift his arms, that he’d probably drop the glass, given how lifeless his fingers feel. Or crush it. Depending on which hand he used.

Carefully, Hanzo helps him take three big, gulping swallows. The water is cool, the most delicious thing that Jesse has tasted in days, and all he wants is _more_.

He licks his lips when Hanzo takes the glass away and swallows a whine. If left unchecked, he’d probably drink the entirety of the carafe and then some.

“How do you feel?” Hanzo asks, pressing the back of one of his hands to Jesse’s forehead, then both of his cheeks. The furrow between his brows eases, relaxing back into smooth skin.

“Bit like I’ve been run over by a carriage,” Jesse replies, coughing. Everything aches. Even parts he didn’t know he had are hurting. “And tired. God, feel like I haven’t slept for a week.”

“Rest is what you require now. Your energy will come back in time. Do you think you can manage to eat?”

His stomach grumbles. Jesse grins sheepishly, “So long as it’s not more of that broth?”

“Your stomach may still be sensitive. You will have to take it easy.” Hanzo holds a steaming bowl in one hand and a large spoon in the other. “We will start with soup, then move you to something more solid.”

Groaning, Jesse sags back against his pillows. Soup is only a small step up from all that broth he was drinking before, but he’ll take it. It’s not like he’s in a position to be demanding something else. And Hanzo’s always been fussy about his health.

The soup, at least, is warm and surprisingly filling. It sits in his stomach and he has to admit, if only to himself, that Hanzo’s right and he probably wouldn’t be able to hold down anything heavier. And he’s grateful that there’s no one else around to see Hanzo feeding him, but he’s too weak to do it himself.

He drifts off again soon after eating.

 

 

 

Jesse spends another day bedridden, most of that he spends sleeping.

He’s still too weak to do much. Which he learned when he had to go to the bathroom and tried to go himself, only to collapse into a painful pile of shaking limbs off the side of the bed. Hanzo had been at his side in a blink, sliding an arm under his shoulders and hauling him up until Jesse’s legs had been under him again.

It was not at all embarrassing that Hanzo had to help him to and from the bathroom.

Jesse has enough strength to crawl back under the covers once he’s returned to his bed. He turns the covers down beside him, weakly patting the sheets.

“You are sure?” Hanzo asks, hesitating beside the bed.

“Not like you can get sick. Unless… you don’t want to?” He can’t quite keep the hurt out of his voice.

Hanzo’s strips down quickly, sliding into bed beside Jesse. He tugs him close, tucking Jesse up under his chin, and then pulls the blankets up around the both of them.

“Gonna stay the night?”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:** domestic life  
>  **Words:** 1144 words
> 
> Listen, I struggled with this because "how the fuck do I fit domestic life into a Van Helsing AU" but look, I managed. And I managed so well that I decided that I should totally write two for the day. So, you all have that to look forward to, I guess.
> 
> Y'all can find me over on [tumblr](http://graysonflynn.tumblr.com/) where I am even more of a dork than I am here.


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